


we've all lost our way before

by scarlettroses



Series: is there still hope? [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Gen, Hospitalization, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Overdose, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, mostly focused on jack and medda, very brief but safer to warn for it, very sweet and heartwrenching mother son dynamic yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28984956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettroses/pseuds/scarlettroses
Summary: "Mama..." he groans, hardly able to open his eyes. He reaches weakly towards where he can see her sitting in a chair and typing on her phone, with a nervous scrunch to her eyebrows.She looks up, and then she's there in an instant, right beside him to take his hand."Oh Jack..." she whispers, wrapping both her hands around one of his and squeezing. Her voice is wet, like she's been crying. "What've you done to yourself, baby?"-a prequel to the other work in this series. jack is nineteen and an addict, medda loves him anyways.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Series: is there still hope? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126115
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	we've all lost our way before

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this isn't a follow-up i really planned on writing? but i was really proud of the first work in this series, and when i watched "beautiful boy" (the timothee chalamet and steve carrell movie- i highly recommend it) i couldn't stop thinking about it. i lost a loved one to addiction last christmas, so maybe that fed into this as well... who knows. this is also sort of inspired by a scene from the book "a little life," which was the saddest book i've ever read and i don't think i'll ever stop being heartbroken for those characters. it's going to influence my writing forever.
> 
> anyways! this takes place about 7-8 years before the original fic, when jack and davey were in college and just started dating. davey isn't all that present in the fic- it's more about jack and medda. please check the tags for warnings, and enjoy!!

Jack is nineteen when he overdoses for the first time.

The saddest part is that he sees it as a strange sort of victory. He's been playing with fire for four or five years now, but only _just_ OD'd. No one— at least not anyone important to him— will know that he was hooked on drugs as a literal child... they'll think of this as a recent problem, that art school was the catalyst in turning him into a junkie. He thinks it might be less shameful this way.

Medda is there when he wakes up in the hospital. He knows exactly what's going on as soon as he comes to consciousness— the familiar ache in his joints tells him that a withdrawal is starting to hit, and the rhythmic beeping, in sync with his heartbeat, is enough to fill in the story of just what happened. He overdid it.

"Mama..." he groans, hardly able to open his eyes. He reaches weakly towards where he can see her sitting in a chair and typing on her phone, with a nervous scrunch to her eyebrows.

She looks up, and then she's there in an instant, right beside him to take his hand.

"Oh Jack..." she whispers, wrapping both her hands around one of his and squeezing. Her voice is wet, like she's been crying. "What've you done to yourself, baby?"

There's a lot he wants to say— that he's ruined his own life, and he's sorry, and he can't believe he's done this to her, and he probably should've just died from the overdose so she wouldn't have to deal with him anymore, and he's so so so sorry for everything. None of those words leave his mouth, though.

"I did something bad, didn't I?" he mumbles, feeling his fingers twitch between her hands, but not quite in control of the movement. The doctors must be medicating him somehow, because this isn't a normal comedown. Why is he so _tired_?

"You sure did," she sighs. She pauses and swallows, as if she's trying to figure out what to say. She finally shakes her head and continues. "You overdosed on heroin _,_ Jack _—_ I found you on the bathroom floor, and your lips and fingers were blue. I thought you were _dead_."

Jack feels a horrible, horrible little ball of shame start to twist in his gut. It's not regret, necessarily, but he feels bad that she had to see that. He feels bad that he scared her, and that he's making her deal with all this now. He's a horrible son.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his words shake and his fingers twitch again, the nervous jitter that comes with the drugs leaving his system. "I didn't mean to."

She closes her eyes for a second and then nods. He can tell she's trying to be empathetic, and that she's angry with him but she doesn't want to show him that.

"I know you didn't," she says. "I know, darling." She rubs her thumb in little circles on the back of his hand. "But did you even think for a second, when you decided to shoot up in there, that one of the boys could've found you?"

This is a point that she likes to drive home whenever he's in trouble. Jack is the oldest of four, and he needs to be responsible because his brothers look up to him. He was a teenager when she adopted him, and he knew that by joining the family, he was stepping up to be a role model for Crutchie, Race, and Albert. He'd been so honoured, and he really thought he could do it, at the time.

"No," he finally croaks, because of course he didn't consider it— he wasn't _planning_ on overdosing. "I'm sorry."

The youngest, Albert, is only twelve— and even at that, he's awfully naive for his age. He probably doesn't even know what heroin _is_ or what it can do, and now Medda's going to have to tell him that his brother almost died from it. Of course the boys are going to ask questions, and Jack knows Medda will answer them honestly. She's not a fan of keeping secrets.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asks, after a moment. She sounds so hurt, like the thought of Jack's addiction physically pains her. It makes him want to vomit. "The doctor said some of the needle marks on your arms look like they've been there for years. When did it start?"

Jack can't bring himself to answer. It's too embarrassing.

He was such a stupid, gullible fourteen year-old that he let the older boys in his last foster home before Medda's place do this to him— it was a group home where they were horribly abused in every way you can possibly think of, and everyone was searching for a way to cope. They told him drugs would make everything better, and they held his arm still while they injected him with the _tiniest_ amount of heroin, and suddenly he wasn't scared or in pain anymore. He couldn't feel _anything_. It was the best he's ever felt, and he knew right then that this was going to become a problem. His parents had been addicts, he knew it ran in his blood, but he let himself fall into the trap anyways. It's horrible.

"I want to go to sleep now," is all he says, purposefully avoiding the question. His eyes feel droopy and heavy, and the ache of the withdrawal is growing stronger, and he knows that if he doesn't sleep now it'll only get worse.

"Please, Jack," Medda whispers, not giving it up. She's squeezing his hand almost desperately. "How long?"

He lets his eyes fall shut and weakly attempts to wrench his hand away from hers.

"I'm tired, Mama."

A heavy sigh.

"Okay."

She lets go of his hand and moves instead to pet his hair, even as he turns his face away from her and tries to roll onto his side in a pitiful attempt to show that he wants to be left alone. She hums softly as she does so, and it makes Jack's chest feel tight like he's going to cry. He finally has a mother who loves him, after all these years of wishing for one, and all he can do is disappoint her.

-

Medda is on the phone the next time he's awake.

"Did you know he was abusing drugs, David?" she asks, and her tone is almost accusatory, like she thinks Davey had something to do with this. "He overdosed on _heroin_ last night."

Davey must panic on the other end of the call, because her tone suddenly goes much softer.

"No, no, he's okay. He's in the hospital, but he'll be alright." She pauses and sighs. "The doctor said it looks like he's been using for a couple years, at least. You didn't know?"

Jack decides not to open his eyes just yet— he's nauseous and his stomach aches. He's sure that if he were to force himself to vomit it might alleviate it somewhat, but he wants to hear what Medda and Davey might talk about, so he just doesn't move.

"Okay," Medda sighs. "I understand. I had no idea either— it's scary how well he hid it. He overdosed in the bathroom at home; he must've been using drugs in the house this whole time, and I never caught on."

Jack's awfully ashamed of that bit. He didn't used to do it at home— he only did it on occasion when he was younger, and he'd save it for when he was with friends, or if he had a really bad day. It's just the past few months that have gotten so bad... he can't go a day without it anymore. He gets dope sick, craves his next dose until he can finally shoot up, and it doesn't even really get him high. He needs heroin to feel _normal_ these days. He's been at home, around his little brothers, with that god-awful drug coursing through his body. He hates himself so, so deeply for that.

He needs help. He _knows_ he needs help. But he somehow doesn't want it— he knows it won't work. He'll end up checking himself out of rehab, or wherever Medda tries to send him, and he'll go right back to the drugs. Being sober is _hard_ , and being high is _easy_. He likes that easy, relaxed feeling, and he knows that any amount of time he spends sober will just make the next high feel even better.

"I'm going to try to get him straight from the hospital into rehab," Medda says on the phone, which makes Jack feel horrible that he's already planning on refusing that idea. "You've got school, sweetheart, this isn't your responsibility. Come by for a visit if you'd like, but don't get to thinking you have to look after him or anything... oh, I know you love him. I know, dear. But you have to put yourself first, alright?"

Jack doesn't like listening to this anymore. Medda's going to convince Davey to break up with him, isn't she? She doesn't think Jack deserves to have a boyfriend as lovely as Davey, since he's such a disappointment— she's _right_ , but it makes his chest ache anyways.

"Mama," he groans, finally letting her know he's awake. He feels like a helpless little kid as he reaches out for her yet again. "I feel sick. I'm gonna puke."

The light hurts his eyes as he opens them, and he barely registers Medda pressing a little paper bowl into his hands for him to vomit into. He leans forward and gags into it, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sunlight while she rubs a hand gently up and down his back.

"I'll let you go, Davey," she sighs into the phone. "Text me when you get here, alright?"

Jack tries to ask if that means Davey is coming to see him, but it comes out a little garbled when he realizes he's not done throwing up. He interrupts himself to shove his face back in the little bowl and heave yet again. It takes until he's finished puking to realize that he began to cry somewhere in the middle of it, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Mama, I'm so sorry," he finally says, once he's sure it's over. He leans his head back against the pillows and finally says the words he's been dreading. "I... If you don't want me anymore, I understand. It's okay."

This must catch Medda off-guard, because it takes her a second to process it. She's perfectly calm as she takes the little bowl from him and sets it somewhere for a nurse to take away, but then she turns back around to him with a confused frown.

"Hang on, what?" she asks. "Jack, baby, what are you talking about? Where did you get that idea from?"

Truthfully, the thought hasn't fully left his mind since the day they signed the adoption papers, a little over two years ago. He's always figured that she'd get sick of him at some point— he's even looked into how an adoption can be annulled, so that he's prepared for when the day eventually comes. She'll realize he's not worth all the trouble he causes, she'll see how messed up he is, and she'll get rid of him for good.

"I ruined everything," he mumbles, not quite able to look her in the eyes. He wipes pitifully at the tears on his cheeks and forces himself to keep talking. "If you want to, like, cancel out the adoption... that's alright. It's not fair that you have to deal with me when I'm so awful."

She's silent for a second, and Jack is sure that this is it. She'll undo the adoption, kick him out of the family, and he'll be all on his own again. He doesn't want that, of course, but he understands why she would do it.

"John Francis Kelly," she finally says, and she comes over to the bed to cup his cheeks and hold onto his face. "Look at me. _Nothing_ you could ever say or do could make me even _consider_ that. Not in a million years. Do you hear me? Nothing could ever, ever make me stop loving you."

This is where Jack finally breaks. She's too good to him— he can't understand what he's done in his fucked-up life to deserve to meet someone like her. He's done nothing to earn her love, but she gives it to him unconditionally anyways, and he simply can't comprehend it. He sobs, leaning forward into her arms; she hugs him tight and just holds him there.

"You're my son, Jack," she whispers, as his head rests in the crook of her neck and she rocks him back and forth. "Okay? It doesn't matter that I've only had you for a few years... that doesn't make it any less real. No matter how many mistakes you make— no matter what you do or where you are, I'll always be your mother. You're not getting rid of me." She gently combs her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. "You got yourself into a tough spot, but we'll get you out, baby. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm sorry," Jack sobs, as if he hasn't said it enough today. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know," Medda replies. "I know, baby. You made some mistakes, but it's not the end of the world. We're gonna fix it together, alright?"

Jack can do nothing more than cry at this point, so Medda just rubs his back and pets his hair. She shushes him softly, as if she's soothing an infant, and he simply clings onto her for dear life. He doesn't deserve how wonderful she is.

**Author's Note:**

> poor baby jack!!! 
> 
> basically, to connect this to the original fic, i think jack does end up running away from rehab at first, and even falls out of touch with both medda and davey for a while because he thinks he's sparing them the pain of seeing him at his worst. it takes another really low moment, maybe another overdose or an intervention from his friends, to actually get him on track to sobriety. he eventualy reunites with his family, goes to rehab, fixes things with davey, finishes college, and stays sober until his relapse in the og fic. he's deeply broken, but he's also very strong and keeps managing to push himself to be better.
> 
> please leave a comment!!! ily thanks for reading :)


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